


Take a Break

by Lolymoon



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Battlestar Galactica - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18577159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lolymoon/pseuds/Lolymoon
Summary: It's the little moments - the break in the narrative - that gives meaning to the story.Or, when Laura and Bill borrowed time for themselves, they did their best to enjoy the hell out of it.Just a collection of Space Parents one-shots, with the occasional supporting players.





	Take a Break

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got my fat lazy ass to gather all my tumblr one-shots and post them here.  
> More to come, hopefully.
> 
> *
> 
> Timeline: Unfinished Business, season 3

She couldn’t tell who had started it.

All she knew was that, one moment her head was resting on his shoulder, deliciously swimming in the lingering effects of weed, senseless and sensible words about life and death pouring out of her mouth, and the next, the world was upside down and she was melting in Bill’s embrace, drowning in languid kisses that seemed to go on forever.

She tore herself away from his mouth to take a much needed breath, licking her lips in slow consideration of what had just happened, which drew a groan out of Bill. She smiled, and gently raked her fingers through Bill’s hair, her body sizzling with delight and disbelief as he began to gently map her face with his mouth, breathing words of desire into her ear, carrying on his thorough exploration down the arched column of her neck.

An involuntary burst of giggles bloomed in her chest as the hair of his moustache tickled the most sensitive skin there. 

She felt him smile against her, which didn’t help her current predicament.

“I missed that sound.”

She hummed in response, and moaned when he nipped delicately at the juncture between her neck and shoulder, her hips bucking against his in reflex.

“This one's new.”

She chuckled, slid her fingers under his chin and tilted his head up to meet his teasing eyes.

“You're silly.”

“Says the President who decided to get high on pot.”

“Former President. And I don’t recall the Admiral saying no.”

He smirked. “I guess we’re both terrible role models.”

She agreed with an indulgent nod. “We should be ashamed.”

They laughed until they found each other’s lips again, hands wandering and exploring the other's body. Bill slowly undid the knot of the red wrap hugging her chest and revealing her breasts, quickly reaching for their soft weight in his palms.

She was the one to attack his neck this time as he started stroking her over her camisole, short moans bubbling in her throat like hiccups whenever his fingers brushed across her nipples.

He gently pinched one hard peak and grunted in appreciation when she reacted with a loud gasp and a firm pressure of her chest against his hands.

“Laundry day?” Bill asked with mischief in his voice as his fingers slipped under the thin fabric and over the bare skin of her belly and breasts.

“Rebellious streak,” she answered in a sigh, eyes half-closed over the sensation of his hands finally feeling her up, just as rough and calloused as she'd imagined (and she had, on occasions) but his touch tender and precise, all military meticulousness.

“Braless and growing weed? I think I’ve just uncovered the President’s wild side…”

She didn’t bother correcting him on the title, this time, too focused on helping him rid her of her top, baring herself to his eyes with determined efficiency.

He paused, then, and she shivered as ardent eyes swept over her in long waves, more startling than the cold night breeze sliding over her skin.

She didn't know if it was him; the weed; this night under the stars unlike any others; but her nerve endings were on fire, her body starved, her senses lit with anticipation and arousal. 

He breathed her name in reverence as his hand trailed between her breasts, his eyes lifting up to hers briefly, as if to check that what he was about to do was okay.

She gave him an encouraging smile, her hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him down, and a stiff and cold nipple was sucked into the warmth of his mouth. 

Laughter spilled from her lips instantly, and he let go just enough to look at her, eyebrows raised in question.

“Your moustache,” she explained breathlessly.

A noise that was halfway between a whimper and a mewl left her lips when he flashed her a grin she could only qualify as evil and went back to work, switching between her breasts and teasing her with the thick hair on his upper lip until she was a writhing mess of moans and giggles.

“Deep breath, Roslin,” he told her, serious and dry, as if giving instructions to one of his pilots, and she slapped the back of his head.

“I’m… trying!”

He moved down her belly and she cursed him, breathing as deep and as loud as she could as he went past her navel. 

She gasped when he gave a playful bite to her hip, and groaned barely coherent words of praise as his hands reached under her long skirt, pulling it up to mid-thigh so he could reach between her legs, stroking her through panties that were becoming increasingly damp.

He stopped his teasing as her breathless cries of need became louder and louder (not that she cared if they were heard, everybody else was too busy frakking on the side as well to pay them any mind), and lowered himself back next to her, cupping her cheek, stroking back the wild hair sticking to her lips, and guiding her face to meet his eyes.

He waited until she understood his silent question, and met his mouth in a deep, wet, lingering kiss.

“I want this,” she breathed against him, and he nodded.

He slid back down between her legs, pulling up her skirt over her belly and decisively ridding her of her underwear, that he carefully stored into the back pocket of his pants.

From any other man she could have taken this as a harmless, but slightly obnoxious act of male pride, but she knew Bill’s neatness far exceeded her own and he was only making sure she'd be able to find it later rather than uselessly fumbling for it in the dark.

She couldn't help an endeared chuckle at this touching but slightly ridiculous attention, and he smiled back, spreading her legs further apart and running his fingers along her inner thighs.

The combination of the roughness of his skin and the carefulness of his touch was maddening. She closed her eyes, her body tense with anticipation as he slowly moved on her, his hot breath tracing the path to the point where she was slick and hot and throbbing…

Then she felt hair brushing the crease between her thigh and hip and she lost it.

“Can't you take this a bit seriously, Laura?”

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, her body shaking helplessly, hands covering her face in embarrassment, missing the gleeful look on Bill's face that belied his mock-tern voice.

He gathered her into his arms and brought one of her hands to his lips, lovingly kissing her knuckles while he waited for the fit to subside.

“You did that on purpose,” she eventually muttered against his chest, and he gave her shoulder an apologetic kiss.

“I really like your laugh.”

“And I really like to come,” she deadpanned, drawing a deep belly laugh out of him.

She brushed the back of her hand along that stark curve of his jaw, eyes narrowing in thorough scrutiny of his face and the offending occupant over his mouth. “I'm sorry, but that bush on your lip is gonna have to go.”

He smiled, tilting his head to nibble and lick gently at her fingers as they kept their slow caress on the lower part of his face. “I think I can convince you to give it another chance.”

He sucked one finger into his mouth until she snapped and pushed him on his back to start her own exploration of his body. 

They kissed and writhed and reached for each other in the dark until they were both as burning and dying as the last wisps of smoke in their lungs, as the hydrogen-fueled stars searing into the night. When he carefully lowered her down on the sandbags again and settled back between her legs, the coarse hair of his upper lip drawing, this time, unexpected delights out of her complying body, and her laughter became one of wonder. Maybe she’d let him keep the moustache, after all. 

She sighed under the tease of his tongue and allowed herself to relax, to ride the waves of pleasure coaxed out of her by Bill's talented mouth and fingers until there was no ground, no sky, just the solid feel of him, taking her on a flight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Hummus?


End file.
